


be the shift of cornerstone

by frostbitten_cheeks



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 08/04-20/04/14 canon mark, Japan, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostbitten_cheeks/pseuds/frostbitten_cheeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Japan is eight days of sushi and beauty and unwinding and Dan thinking of marriage far more than is necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	be the shift of cornerstone

**Author's Note:**

> an indirect and unintended reaction to the waves of proposal fics that crushed upon the fandom during/after the japan trip.
> 
> (link to this fic [on tumblr](http://literaryphan.tumblr.com/post/118206935746/be-the-shift-of-cornerstone))

Folding laundry in his room three days after Phil has booked Japan, Dan’s mum asks, “Are you getting married there?” in that low voice that means she’s disappointed. He pauses and shifts the position of the phone and says, “Yeah, we’re eloping without inviting you, mum,” in that voice that means sarcasm, but all she does is sigh.

“I don’t really know anymore, Dan,” – and the thing is, neither does he.

 

 

-

 

 

The airport is big and white and familiar, and it’s funny how little time the two of them combined spend outdoors, but how many taxies to the airport they share a year. The PA system calls the passengers of flight BA0015 to Australia onboard, and Phil collapses into a plastic chair in a flurry of suitcases and hand-luggage while Dan searches around for an outlet. He hasn’t been on twitter for three hours, his mind’s itching. Some call it addiction – he calls it a career.

They split greasy chips from Giraffe between them, minutes ticking by. Phil plays fifteen rounds of Candy Crush and makes disjointed sounds at most while Dan scrolls down  _omg imagine japan proposals_  and  _what if they’re getting engaged between the cherry trees_.

There is no reason for this at all, but on his third jog to the toilet during their four-hour wait, Dan walks by Tiffany’s and falters by the rings stand, lingers.

 

 

-

 

 

In thick glasses and a comfortable sweater and with his long legs bent awkwardly between the seats, the physical aspects of overseas-flight Phil are perhaps one of Dan’s favourite Phils. It reminds him a lot of early-mornings Phil, when they’re running late for three meetings back-to-back and barely have time to boil the kettle for coffee.

He doesn’t tell Phil this, because despite his appreciation for the physical aspects, the characteristics of overseas-flight Phil is that he tends to fall asleep within fifteen minutes of takeoff, and this, Dan does not appreciate one bit. Dan does not fall asleep, and Dan can neither play I Spy with himself nor stooped low enough to ask the child two rows behind.

Instead, he puts on his headphones and leans his head on the window, breathes. Phil wakes every two hours for  _I’ll take chicken, please,_  and  _do you have diet coke_  and  _think I can bribe the pilot for a tour?_

Dan has a book prepared in his bag, a movie of choice in his head. This isn’t his first flight with Phil, isn’t the last. Japan becomes a distant horizon after over ten hours and Phil leans over Dan, one palm on the windowpane and one on Dan’s thigh, grins, “Best spontaneity ever.”

 

 

-

 

 

Mimei and Duncan are short and smiley and shy, and Phil hugs them like they’re his long-lost siblings even though they’ve never really met. Dan trails after him, hitches the bags high on his shoulder and smiles a little crookedly and a little gratefully when Duncan tells him, “That’s okay, I don’t judge you for being Godzilla,” while Mimei and Phil compare itinerary notes.

Everything looks out of an anime, and Dan makes five Your Lie in April jokes before catching up with himself, ranting about cultural appropriation for six minutes straight. Mimei throws him a grin over her shoulder and Phil presses a hand over Dan’s mouth, gives him a sideway look. Dan says _, I mean, jetlag_ , and tries to remember what it’s like being on vacation, tries to recall no one hanging onto his every mistake.

On the way to Imperial Palace, they exchange  _hey buddy_  tumblr posts that make them laugh, and Duncan discovers the incident for the first time. He claims to not have checked twitter since Dan and Phil’s flight landed, and while Phil reads memes from his phone Duncan checks his feed and says in amusement, “Three people have asked me if I’m participating in a secret proposal plan.”

On a billboard in the street, there’s a poster of Haikyū. Dan says, “Look, Phil, your fave,” and hopes the unsaid would be left that way.

 

 

-

 

 

At Imperial Palace, Phil tries to chase down swans and fails every time. They take ninety-two selfies, outside and inside and on the grass and under trees, sway Duncan and Mimei into a few ones and leave them out for most. They settle on one that’d be going on Instagram later, but the ninety-one others are for them alone.

The souvenir shop sells hideous floral picture frames and Phil holds one of them up, suggests putting some of their selfies in the lounge. All four of them laugh but a while later Phil leaves with a frame in a plastic bag, and Dan raises an eyebrow but Phil says  _you never know_.

Dan counters that they both know it’d be filled with an original of Chihiro Ogino, and Phil doesn’t really argue.

 

 

-

 

 

By the time they hit nine am London clock, Dan falls asleep on Phil’s shoulder twice, almost nods off while waiting in line for metro tickets. The underground maps system is a widespread crisscrossed maze, and Mimei traces her finger down the different lanes on the drawing and tries to tell Phil how to get to their hotel with little to no success.

On a bench between an old lady and six bags of groceries, Dan inevitably slips into hibernation while Phil gets lost between the different exits, forgets to wake him up. The old lady is staring at him when he jerks himself awake twenty minutes later, and Phil’s saying, “I think I know how to get us home, c’mon,” and offers an outstretched arm, and no one except maybe the lady knows what happened but Dan is soaking wet, dripping and confused.

On the train, they ball Dan’s jacket into a wet lump on the floor, and Dan listens while Phil tells him how he’s certainly been abducted by spitting aliens who manipulated time to put him back on earth without anyone noticing. Dan curls his fingers in Phil’s shirt, rests his head in the crook between Phil’s collarbones, and sleeps.

 

 

-

 

 

He holds himself up for long enough to carry himself and the suitcases out to the streets and into their hotel. The doorman smiles and wishes them a good honeymoon in broken English, and Dan’s not nearly awake enough for this universal joke, not by a long shot.

 

 

-

 

 

He wakes into warm sheets and one pm London time and Phil’s hair in his face, and it’s just like home, just like always. The only difference is that the room’s bathed with sunrays and when Phil wakes, he doesn’t look like he’d murder someone for a cup of strong coffee.

“Should we order room service?” Phil asks a few minutes later, after he stretches and almost rolls off the bed and jabs Dan in the ribs as punishment for laughing too hard, dimple deepening. “I’m kinda hungry and kinda curious what real Japanese people eat in real Japan.”

Phil bends over the edge of the bed to pick up his socks, wriggles his toes into them. Dan thinks they should and thinks he’s craving waffles and thinks breakfast sounds like heaven right now, and all of these would answer Phil’s question, but there’s something bubbly and happy in his lungs and he’s breathing it in, throat closing tight.

“I love you,” he says, because they don’t say it enough, sometimes don’t say it at all. Phil smiles over his shoulder and lets his palm cover Dan’s ankle poking out of the blanket, doesn’t say it back. It’s okay, though, because Dan knows, and Phil knows he knows.

“I’m calling room service,” he says instead, and Dan nods and tucks his head into the pillow and listens as Phil tells the guy on the phone that he’s interested in their fish, knows very well that Phil’s going to end up choosing the pancakes, anyway.

 

 

-

 

 

In the dawn of the day, a hundred adventures later, they choose a sushi place and sit down inside red walls, accept small dishes with suspicious eyes. Duncan talks to the chef fluently and Dan nods along like he understands every word between  _hashi_  and  _sakana_  and there’s something exciting about this, about new places and new people and not knowing what there is on your plate.

Phil does chopsticks like he does everything else, with a laughing ungracefulness that is more than the sums of its parts. He drops the sushi five times and sneaks some of them into his mouth with his fingers when Mimei isn’t watching, and all Dan thinks about is  _I love you_ and  _three people have asked me_  and  _are you getting married there_.

His sushi tastes like sushi only so much better, and there’s no reason for this but it’s true. Phil says the fish are fresher, closer to the sea, and Dan snorts and reminds him Britain’s an island and Duncan laughs, and Dan thinks it isn’t really the taste, it’s the experience.

“I wanna stay forever,” Phil whines when they leave, clutching his bag and the sharpie fish drawn on a napkin that the chef handed him for his enthusiasm. Dan nudges a shoulder into his and says, “A week is like a forever only smaller,” and gets a smile for his efforts.

 

 

-

 

 

Standing under the umbrella at Ghibli Museum feels more familiar than anything else on the trip. The raindrops fall on the nylon canopy and the robot smiles at them from above and Dan takes the photo of Duncan and Mimei that is identical to theirs while Phil says, “This is like Saturday afternoons on Piccadilly,” and if Dan closes his eye, he can almost see it.

“Is that good or bad,” he asks while handing Duncan the phone for approval, “that we flew so far for something that’s really like home?”

Phil doesn’t say anything, but much later, on their way to the hotel, Phil counts three days of Japan and says, “I guess it’s some poetic statement about how home’s just a sentimental concept. I mean – home is London, but home is also rain and ambulance sirens and late night pizzas and you.”

 

 

-

 

 

Phil takes four hundred pictures of everything. He has seventy variations of what looks like the exact same cherry tree, seventy variations more of pavements and clear skies and blurry passerby. Duncan goes through every single photo and tries playing spot the difference, makes Phil play with him as well, until the tips of Phil’s ears are pink and his laughter is echoing.

In-between Phil’s pictures, there are the gaps where the phone was handed over to Dan, and these gaps are noticeable. Phil takes four hundred pictures of everything, of birds and shops and triangular roofs, while Dan – he takes pictures of Phil.

Duncan thumbs through the gallery, and every few dozen photos there’s a picture of Phil, candid and raw and unfocused, Phil facing towards the sun or enthusing over human-sized plushies or simply waiting for the green light on the street, stray strands of hair in his face from the wind and his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Mimei smiles at Dan every time this happens, looks up to catch his eye. He shrugs one shoulder and says, “If he keeps being the only one to take pictures we won’t even remember he was here,” except that’s not really why and both of them know it, and maybe that’s okay.

 

 

-

 

 

The thing about the couples in their lives is that they’re amalgamations, people they’ve known forever, people who come as twos but can come alone. There’s Wirrow and Bryony and PJ and Sophie and Martyn and Cornelia and many more, and each of them’s a unit, but they’re two separates, as well.

The thing about Duncan and Mimei is that Dan meets Bryony for tea three times a month and PJ takes Phil to indie museums on holidays but there’s nothing about Duncan and Mimei that’s apart, and this – this is new to them.

Phil tells a joke and Duncan laughs along, and Mimei snickers and touches Duncan’s jaw with her nose and something in Dan’s stomach is twisting because they’re so sweet and so genuine but the only shape of love Dan’s ever known is arms locked together over office chairs armrests and the constant tapping on keyboards in quiet rooms, and this, this he doesn’t know.

“I feel like we’re losing a competition we’ve never entered,” Phil tells him when they’ve escaped to the bar. Behind them, Duncan’s smiling wide and Mimei’s kissing his cheek, and Dan looks away.

“We’re bad at this,” he acknowledges, swirls the pink liquid in the glass the bartender’s handed him. “Romance and – we’re shit, Phil. Always have been.”

Next to him, Phil’s elbow’s pressing into his and their shoulders fit together, and Phil dips his finger into Dan’s glass and licks it, says, “I have like, forty candles at home. We can try winging the fancy candlelit dinner thing, if we wanted to.”

If they wanted to – “But I don’t,” Dan says, and means it. “I don’t think it’s – I mean, listen, I’m all about soft and sensual lovemaking or whatever, don’t get me wrong. But we’re not… this kind of people.”

“I’ll cuddle the hell out of you,” Phil titles his head. “But nicknames or handholding’s a bit – yeah.”

They stay silent and Dan bumps their shoulders together and thinks, this is the shape of his love. This, hunched backs and feet pointing towards each other on the bar floor and Phil wrinkling his nose at the taste of Dan’s cocktail, pink liquid leaving traces on the corner of his mouth. And it’s not less than Duncan and Mimei, not worse, just – different. Theirs.

On the other side of the counter, the bartender mixes something that creates steam in the air, and he calls it a liquid nitrogen meringue when Dan asks and Dan tells Phil,  _I dare you to kiss it_ , and Phil pursues his lips and says,  _you’re on_. He drinks the whole thing and Dan doesn’t stop laughing and when they stumble back into their booth, Dan knocks their knuckles together under the table and smiles.

 

 

-

 

 

The maid café’s a bizarre experience, pastels and cat ears and colourful hair colors, but it serves as a revelation when Dan holds his green alpaca latte and thinks,  _this is so Japan_ , and also,  _it’s all over in three days_.

All of a sudden he’s very concerned with this, concerned with the time. There are no maid cafés that they’re aware of in London, Duncan tells him when he asks, and Phil looks up from his orange lion and doesn’t understand, not really, and it’s weird because Dan’s known how long they have all along but suddenly three days sound like no days at all, and the weirdest part –

He holds onto the edge of the table and shakes his head, says it’s nothing. Internally, he thinks that it feels like he’s missing his opportunity for something, and doesn’t quite know what.

 

 

-

 

 

His eyes burn on the screen in the dead of night, black text blocks and sheets twisted between his limbs and Phil’s knees curled against his back and the phone, inches away from his face, burning.

His thumb scrolls down further, thoughtless – a distraction. Jenson Button tweets about Indycar and Dan’s eyes skim it, see nothing, move on.

(Sometimes, they talk about marriage. Sometimes Phil says wistfully,  _we’re getting a dog one day_  and sometimes Dan vows,  _I’m never letting you bake alone with our children_ , and sometimes they mention it like it’s already a given,  _we’re not picking roses for our wedding_ and  _I want a small ceremony_  and  _opinions on autumn versus winter?_

Sometimes Dan thinks that maybe they talk about it like it’s a given because it just is. But sometimes he thinks that maybe, maybe they talk about it like it’s a given because it’s easier than talking about it like it’s not, easier than having to establish it, because they’re so bad at this and Dan can’t ever see himself on one knee, can’t ever see Phil on it, either.

Sometime, Dan thinks that maybe neither of them will ever be able to propose. Sometimes.

He does not think of this now.)

On the feed, there’s an ad of something Japanese, a picture of a wedding dress. Dan’s eyes burn in the dark and he stares, tenses, scrolls down.

His hand’s shaking from exhaustion and his thumb catches for too long, but this, he won’t know until morning.

 

 

-

 

 

The climb up Fuji consists of stops to admire the view far more than it consists any actual walking. Phil makes too many animal impressions while Mimei displays too much energy and Duncan jokes about how they’re _just three hours from the summit, this is too easy._

Halfway up, Dan catches his breath and grabs the hem of Phil’s sleeve, leans his weight on Phil’s shoulder and exhales while Phil threads his fingers up Dan’s hair and says pityingly, “We  _really_  need to start running again.” Dan thinks,  _I’m tired, not unfit,_   _because I avoided questioning everything by being on twitter until four in the morning_ , and instead says, “We really do.”

Mimei starts talking about food three quarters up to distract them from the remaining journey, and accidentally makes them all very hungry. She’s describing miso soup in a longing voice when a German tourist with his two kids turns to look at them, and Dan whispers in Phil’s ear, “The definition of hangry right there,” and causes both of them to laugh too hard.

They reach the top by past noon and call a collective lunch break, toss a coin to see who gets to scout around for restaurants – a tossing that Phil and Mimei lose, leaving Duncan and Dan with four bags and rumbling stomachs. The two of them settle down on a rock and Dan curls around himself, hands deep inside the hoodie’s pockets, rests his elbows on his knees while Duncan tugs Mimei’s pink backpack closer and rummages inside it. In silence, they do nothing but watch – Duncan the view, and Dan, the people.

Seven hundred feet away, a guy drops on one knee with an open jewelry box in his hands, and Dan can’t really hear what he’s saying but the woman puts her hands to her mouth and some people clap, and maybe, maybe he looks for too long when the couple hugs. 

“The only thing that matters,” Duncan tells Dan when he catches him staring, looking at the ground rather than at Dan and patiently peeling an apple with steady hands, “is whether or not you’d say yes. The rest is just paperwork.”

Dan says, “Of course,” before Duncan finishes speaking. He says this because he would, says this because it isn’t a question and Dan knows it, knows that Phil knows as well. It isn’t a question, only a consideration of time – but time, time is starting to look down on Dan, a little.  

They don’t talk about this when Phil and Mimei come back, dragging them away and rambling about _pizza, Dan, oh my god_. They don’t talk about it after, either, not when they eat or when they go to Hakone, not even that night, when Mimei and Phil are off once again trying to figure out trains so Dan and Phil could get to their hotel, and the two of them are left alone.

Duncan doesn’t bring it up, and so Dan doesn’t, either – and if he never really finds out how Duncan even knew what he’d thought of, never discovers how he’d known exactly what to say – then, well. Then maybe it didn’t mean anything, to begin with.

 

 

-

 

 

On their last day, Phil eats black ice cream and posts six hundred Instagram photos and falls in love with some cats.

On their last day, Dan takes too many photos of Phil with black ice cream on his hands and on his cheeks and smeared across his mouth, too many photos of Phil pulling distorted anguished faces at cute cats who make him sneeze really hard, too many photos of Phil sat at Mimei and Duncan’s dinner table, Dan’s finger sticking into the frame as he points at the phone in Phil’s hands, dictating authoritatively the Instagram filters Phil should use.

 

 

-

 

 

Dan sits on the suitcases while Phil zips them up, feet spread apart and phone dangling from hand. A girl on his dashboard says  _hey buddy you married yet_ , and Dan stares at the ceiling and then at his hand, turns over his palm to look at his bare fingers and wonder.

“We didn’t end up getting hitched,” he says out loud – maybe to Phil, or maybe not. “Honestly, I feel like a disappointment.”

Behind him, Phil zips up the last suitcase, crawls to Dan’s side and balances back on his knees, considers. He says, “Well, there’s always next time,” and maybe it’s a joke, or maybe it isn’t.

Down at the reception, they carry a suitcase each and don’t pull away when the back of their hands brush together. The doorman tells them he hopes they’ve had a great honeymoon, and Phil waves, says, “We did!”

Out the door, Dan simply smiles.

 

 

-

 

 

Later, in Haneda Airport, Phil buys him a cup of cheap coffee and an extra pair of earphones and a plastic toy ring in bright purple, purchased from the Kids’ Corner on the departure concourse.

Dan laughs for three minutes and squeezes Phil’s fingers rather than kisses him on the mouth. The ring doesn’t fit even on his pinky, but the truth is neither of them cares.

(On the plane, forty thousand feet above Mongolia and nine hours away from home, Phil falls asleep on Dan’s shoulder, and Dan twists the purple plastic ring between his fingers again and again and again.)


End file.
